We're Just Like You, Only Prettier-Confessions of a Tarnished Southern Belle by Celia Rivenbark

Author:Celia Rivenbark
Language: eng
Format: mobi
Tags: Non-Fiction, Humour, Writing
ISBN: 9780312312442
Publisher: St. Martin's Griffin
Published: 2005-01-02T00:00:00+00:00

Part 4:

THE SOUTHERN

Woman

The Truth? We’re Just Like You, Only Prettier

1

SCIENTISTS DISCOVER

Fat Virus!

How I Went from Diet, Exercise, and Giving a Shit to Gnawing 99¢ Turkey Legs at the Stop-n-Go

I can’t put it off any longer, this search for the Perfect Swimsuit. Vacation is looming and there’s just no way I’m going to wear gym shorts in the pool again this year. Children can be so cruel.

So, here’s the dilemma: Do I want the basic maillot, the “tankini” (a bikini for tanks), a high-neck, or low-neck? An ombre bubble or a batik with side panel slenderizers? A ribbed faille two-piece or a zipper tank in color block?

Experts say that the key to successful swimsuit shopping—aside from laying off the Coronas during the winter months—is to determine your correct body shape.

Are you a “triangle,” “circle,” “rectangle,” or “inverted triangle,” for instance? They say you are what you eat, so I believe I’m more of a “lasagne.”

Once you’ve established that, you can immediately proceed to the swimsuit department of your favorite store, where you will discover that they only sell suits for “straight lines” on account of most swimsuit manufacturers are designing strictly for Courteney Cox Arquette after a busy morning of bingeing and purging.

And while we’re on the subject, why don’t any of the big stars have a butt anymore? Have they been surgically removed? Meg Ryan used to have a butt; now she just sits on a couple of sticks. Same with Jennifer Aniston. Did they just wake up one morning and go, “Holy shit! Where’s my butt?” Call the butt police and put out an APB (all pointy-butted).

This year they’ve tossed those of us shaped more like Camryn Manheim a bone in the form of the ultra-trendy “pareo,” a color-coordinated scarf thingy that you wear over your swimsuit to disguise figure flaws and dress up a bit for poolside parties.

The pareo looks terrific until you decide to go in the water. That’s when you sheepishly peel it off, drape it over your chaise, and hear the audible gasps from your friends. (“Pssst! Fat Woman Walking!”)

Once you’ve selected a few swimsuit possibilities, you can go to the dressing room where you will, no doubt, find that the only available cubicle is right beside two giggling fifteen-year-old Brit-nees who weigh approximately ninety-seven pounds apiece. Sooner or later, they will take off their little Barbie clothes and squeal things like: “Ohmigod! Can you believe these thunder thighs?” to each other. I’d like to kill ’em in their sleep.

All this has the effect of keeping you from ever leaving the dressing room to make that long walk of shame toward the larger, actually useful three-way mirror down the hall.

Swimsuit shopping this year has been particularly crappy because, well, I’ve gained a few el-bees. I was getting pretty pissed about it all until I read about a study reported in the International Journal of Obesity (circulation 55,000, but it seems like more) that found a “fat virus.”

Turns out, the Adenovirus 36, a fairly common human

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